


Odyssey Archives

by Willmagicforfood



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Post-Apocalypse, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:02:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22147612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willmagicforfood/pseuds/Willmagicforfood
Summary: A road trip across a post apocalyptic United States that has gone through every apocalypse imaginable
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Odyssey Archives

This story starts with a hitchhiker. My story started long ago, and there were some major events that happened before as well, but this story you’re holding starts with a hitchhiker. Before everything, there was no chance I would pull over onto the side of the road to pick up a hitchhiker. Too much unknown, too many stories, and much too much anxiety for that, but all those kinds of things go out of the window after the end of the world. Of course, it hasn’t completely ended, or I wouldn’t be here, and this book wouldn’t be in your hands. But as these things go, an end is never really an end, but instead a change, a new beginning, and with this new beginning, there are new rules, and one of those rules is that it’s better to deal with the anxiety of picking up a cute hitchhiker on the side of the road than dealing with the boredom of a lonesome existence on the road. 

Did I mention that she was cute? Somehow, despite the ruin around her, she managed a nonchalance that was obviously bullshit. She had long red hair, and a coat that I would have fought someone over near a flaming trash can. You haven’t lived unless you’ve fought for something, food, whatever, with the ambience of a trash can set aflame behind you. 

Her name, at least the name she gave me was Morgan. The name I gave her was Anne, so that’s the name I’ll give you too. If you’re offended, you are fully in your freedom to yell at this book, and accept the absurdity of your decision, and the looks that you may get from those around you. But also, maybe don’t let a book tell you what to do. I met a guy back in the former New England who got in a lot of trouble for letting a book tell him what to do. Something about necromancy and food I think, but that’s not really important is it?

Anyway, the benefit to reading about a road trip is that you get to skip all of the boring, and awkward staring out of windows in silence. Especially since the radio no longer works. Do you know how frustrating it is to have a song stuck in your head, and forgetting half of the lyrics and being unable to find the song on the radio, or the internet and fill the gaps? If anyone knows the lyrics to the song that goes huh huh huh huh huuuuuh huh huh huh huh huh-huh huh-huh-huh huh huuuuuuh, or something like that, I’d really appreciate if you could send it to me, also good luck figuring that out. 

There are few games left to play while travelling across a post-apocalyptic countryside, but it does include, Name that Aberration, or Sledge Hammer in a China Shop.

If you do find yourself in need to gas, or other supplies that require active maintenance, I do recommend finding your way towards one of the few robot outposts throughout the countryside. But, you do need to make sure that you are in the right state of disinterest, as otherwise they may convert you to technotheism, and sure perfect harmony, logic and efficiency sounds pretty nice, but there is also something wrong with it. But, I’ll definitely risk it so that I can still deal with having a car that actually works, electricity, and other comforts that only come from other people’s labor. 

One morning, we were travelling across the former South, and we were running out of our stash of canned meats and other non-perishable goods, so we pulled into one of the massive and empty parking lots of an abandoned Wal-Mart. We stopped for a moment to admire the graffiti on the side of the building. There were the regular obscenities, and a few particularly well done penises, but there was also a mural of a tree, who roots reached like hands and strangled factories, as well as a few obese businessman who also look remarkably like pigs. 

While we were wandering the aisles, looking for what other pillagers and looters have missed, we heard a familiar groan behind us. 

Side Note: Zombies are the worst. They aren’t really dangerous, but are instead just really annoying. They are slow moving, and are very easy to kill. They are only really dangerous if you are dumb enough to let one sneak up to you, or if you happen to run into a building with an infestation of zombies, which was exactly what we had done. We turned and there was a zombie stumbling down the aisle with it’s dumb face, and there were more groans from in the distance. For some reason or some how, Zombies seem to have some sort of hive mind in which after one has figured out where you are, they don’t stop coming. I’ve lost many a homestead to a random zombie stumbling into my living room, and like I said they are really easy to take care of, but way too much hassle to keep dealing with. 

I grabbed the nearest thing that I could, which happened to be a Midsummer’s Night Candle, and chucked it at the zombie nearby, and hit him squarely in the shin. You’d think after surviving in a post-apocalyptic hellscape that I would be better at throwing things, but at least I hit it, and you shouldn’t be criticizing me, since I can’t even hear you anyway. The candle cracked and shattered across the ground, and many shards embedded themselves into the zombie’s already rotting flesh. I walked away and towards Morgan (it’s important to conserve your energy because zombies are perseverance predators and will just walk slowly toward you, never resting and never stopping, so running will only allow them to catch up to you faster).

“What the hell do you suggest?” I asked, while trying to ignore the grumbling and scratching of the glass shards on the tile floor. 

“Arson?” She pointed towards the camping section. 

“But I don’t want to ruin the mural outside. Is there something else we could do with more localized destruction?”

“We could try to make some flame throwers,” she now pointed over to the other end of the store with the lighters and hair spray. 

We took a few steps away from the zombie that was now a few feet away. 

“You really like fire huh?”  
She shrugged her shoulders and started walking in that direction. 

“You know that’s not a polite way to end a battle discussion,” I shouted after her while following.

She didn’t respond, but just threw up her arms and flipped me off. So I did what any reasonable person would do in a similar situation and threw a candle stick at her, and hit her right in the ass. Now what are you gonna say about my throwing skills? Probably still nothing, because why would you talk to a book? Better to wait until one of your friends have read it, and make fun of me with them. (I think that’s called viral marketing, but I also get that confused with sending a computer virus that orders thousands of copies of your book on every infected computer, or robot if you are in a post-apocalyptic hell-scape, or when you release biological warfare upon your own populace in order to get them to buy the cure that only you produce, but then realize that the cure doesn’t fully work, and the dead seem to be rising up and eating the living. That didn’t work so well for the Poncho Corporation though). 

She didn’t turn around, but grabbed a pair of cheetah print slippers off of the rack beside her, and chucked them over her shoulder. Even though I saw it coming, she still managed to bean me right in the face, and in a moment of tremendous grace, I tripped and fell backwards, clacking my head on the ground. As my vision blurred, with spiralling lights flooding my vision, I thought of a few choice curses to throw at Morgan, when I felt a hand scrape across my shoulder, and my heart spiked in my chest. 

Fuck. Zombies are not dangerous unless you’re an idiot, and I was definitely an idiot. 

I jerked upwards, and the zombie’s nails scratched into my shoulder, and I saw Morgan spin around to help me, at the same time that another Zombie appeared out of an aisle, and tumbled into her. 

Double Fuck. We were idiots. 

I danced away from the zombie still crawling across the ground, and another came stumbling out of the DVD section. Maybe it was looking for Law and Order Seasons 1-49. Not the time to think about it, I sprinted to Morgan, and grabbed a pair of heels off the same rack as the slippers, and slammed into the zombie, and went middle aged white lady on Black Friday crazy on that Zombie, smashing into it with the heel as many times as I could, while Morgan watched with wide eyes, because you know, crazy lady practically on top of her, and a zombie that she didn’t previously see coming. 

I quickly scanned Morgan for any bite wounds, but couldn’t get any good look since there was blood from scratches, and the zombie covering her. 

“While I do love a good cuddle, this might not be the best time,” Morgan said over the scratching of glass over tile, and the zombies groaning and stumbling towards us.   
I stuck my tongue out at her, and pushed myself up. My arms and legs shaky from the adrenaline, and we sprinted together towards the hair spray. We took what peeks we could towards the entrance, and there were a plethora of zombies blocking our exit. 

“Fuck that mural,”

“Arson?”

“Arson”

“Arson!”

We switched direction, and cut back through aisles towards the camping goods, and grabbed all of the flammable objects we could find. The groans were getting closer, and we could hear the shattering of spare retail goods getting closer and closer, as we tried to get everything together. Morgan turned to me, with a now flaming starter log in her hand, and threw it right by my face.

“What the f” I started when I heard the zombie thunk to the ground right behind me. 

“That’s a weird way to say thank you.”

“What can I say? I’m a weird girl.” I grabbed as much lighter fluid as I could carry and started my way to the front of the store, as we got closer, I began cracking open the bottles and chucking them as hard as I can in an arc around the front of the store. 

“Would you like to do the honors?” I asked with the last lighter fluid flying through the air.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Morgan said as she set some lighters to continually burst fire and threw them into the store front, which then erupted with a satisfying burst of flames, and what I imagine would be confused cursing if zombies were capable of confused cursing. 

Morgan stood, entranced by the flames as they grew higher and higher, and the smoke started to billow throughout the building.

“Come on dumb ass, I don’t wanna die.” I grabbed her arm and started dragging her to the back doors. “Especially not in a goddamned Wal-Mart.”

We sprinted out of the back of the building, only taking a short break to kick the still crawling zombie right in the jaw. 

We watched the building burn to the ground at the edge of the parking lot, eating a can of beans we had managed to grab on the way. The food was shit, but there was so much comfort in sitting on the hood of my truck, with Morgan leaning beside me. That gentle reassurance and company. 

And then there we were, back on the road. Endless road, racing landscapes, and an infinite blue-purple sky.


End file.
